


Mile High Club

by linaerys



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-07
Updated: 2009-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Nathan/Peter, mile high club</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mile High Club

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series, and since I haven't watched _Heroes_ since the first ep of S3, I couldn't spoil if I tried.

Private jets are one of the few things Peter likes about the family's money. He sits next to Nathan, curled in his seat, his toes just touching Nathan's leg. They've rested there for a while, and Nathan hasn't pulled away. One of Arthur's partners is sitting a few seats behind them, snoring, mouth open, drool tracing a line down his cheek, but he and Nathan might as well be alone, cocooned together by the hum of the engines, unmoored from the world.

The flight attendant hasn't come back here for a while. This is the time when they're supposed to sleep--only five hours to London--but Nathan hasn't turned off his light; he keeps flipping through papers at that slow, methodical pace. He stops occasionally to mark a line from a brief with a quick slash of his pen, but he doesn't make notes. Nathan keeps everything he needs to know in his head. It's safer that way, he told Peter once.

Peter flicks his toe against Nathan's thigh, back and forth against the grain of the wool, until Nathan looks up at him, irritation widening his eyes. "Hmmmm?" he says impatiently.

"You should sleep," says Peter.

"_You_ should sleep," Nathan responds automatically.

"Can't."

Nathan makes another noncommittal noise and turns back to his reading. Peter shifts back in his seat to face forward, lips set in a pout. He stretches, thin black t-shirt riding up over his stomach, and is pleased to note that Nathan's eyes follow the movement.

"You could help me sleep," Peter suggests.

"Shhh," says Nathan, although Peter was speaking quietly, under the noise of the engines, and Mr. Taylor isn't waking up any time soon no matter what. Peter just looks at him. "What, here?" Nathan asks, dryly, raising his eyebrows.

Peter reaches out and clasps his hand around Nathan's wrist, the one clutching his papers more urgently now. "Yes, here." He waits until Nathan's eyes meet his--tacit agreement--then lets go, stands up out of his seat, and saunters toward the bathroom.

The bathroom is big on this jet; no tiny, cramped room for Arthur and his guests. Peter tugs a packet of lube out of his pocket and puts it on the counter. He briefly meets his own eyes in the mirror, but doesn't hold them long. Later, he'll look, later when Nathan's buried inside him, he'll look up to see Nathan's face, but now he doesn't want to see.

Nathan thinks he's the only one driven by this compulsion, that he's the only one who struggles with it. Peter works hard to make sure Nathan never sees his struggles. Then he might stop.

Nathan's taking his time, so Peter tugs off his shirt and pulls down his pants. It's an awkward way to reach, but he manages to slick himself up a little, pushing a finger shallowly in. He's just started to enjoy the sensation, imagining the finger is Nathan's, when the door to the bathroom opens, and Nathan comes in.

Now the room feels small. Nathan takes up more space than he should, making Peter want to back up, away from the darkness in Nathan's eyes.

"Peter," says Nathan. He reaches for Peter, and the touch erases Peter's worry. Then they're kissing, Nathan's hands moving patterns across Peter's flank, down over the curve of his hip. His fingers probe into Peter's cleft, then tighten, bruisingly hard around the muscle of his ass. Peter gasps.

"I knew you'd come," says Peter. He puts his hand on Nathan's chest. He can feel the shiver in Nathan's skin through the fine fabric of his shirt, echoing his own. This is it, the tide that brings them together.

Anger tightens Nathan's jaw. He grabs Peter's shoulder and spins him around, hard enough that Peter's hip bruises against the sink. "This is going to make you sleep?" Nathan asks, voice rough. He pushes his fingers between Peter's cheeks, finding where Peter slicked himself, and makes a satisfied noise, the kind he makes when someone proves him right, and spears two fingers in.

There's pain, of course--there always is with Nathan--pain Peter craves, pain that makes him hard against the cold corner of the counter. Then the pressure is gone. Peter hears Nathan undoing his belt, then the rip of a foil condom package. He doesn't dare look up in the mirror yet. That is for later, when Nathan's too lost to look back. Now he waits.

Nathan's slick fingers come back, hard and insistent as if they never left, opening Peter up, spreading him cruelly wide before sinking into him. Nathan never stops to enjoy that moment of joining, as much as Peter might wish him to, and now, as always, he immediately starts pulling out again, forcing Peter to bite his lip and will his body to keep up.

Now the words start too. "Tell me," says Nathan.

"I want it," says Peter. "I love how you can't resist me." Nathan stills. That's not in the script. "Big, powerful Nathan, can't get enough of his slutty little brother." Nathan's hands tighten on his hips. That's right, Nathan, Peter thinks, punish me for telling the truth. Peter sets his jaw and prepares for even rougher treatment, but Nathan stays motionless.

Now Peter looks up into the mirror. Nathan is looking down at him. The overhead light in the bathroom paints his face in handsome planes and deeply shadowed angles. His hand rests almost gently on Peter's back. "Do you hate me?" he asks.

"I love you, Nathan," he says. "I love you, I want you." Peter pauses. The silence stretches out. Nathan's hands are question marks on his skin. "I don't know why," he adds quietly, "but I do."

Nathan looks up at himself in the mirror, and then pulls off his shirt without unbuttoning it. Peter liked the visual before, of Nathan fully dressed, fucking Peter when he was naked and wanton, but now he's stripped Nathan's defenses. He might as well be naked too.

Nathan moves just a fraction of an inch, in and out, still controlled, but not as hard. They're still at war, no matter what; this is Nathan reminding Peter with his body what he can't with words, that Peter can't resist him either, that they can both come apart in each other's hands. Nathan reaches around to find Peter's cock as he thrusts harder, timing himself with Peter so they're breathing together, nearing the edge together.

He hits a spot deep inside that makes Peter's vision darken. Pleasure so intense it might as well be pain ripples out from there, so Peter can't tell where he starts and Nathan ends; it's just the two of them, together, as it should be.

Nathan's chest presses against his back, damp and sweaty. Nathan's hand still cups him, sticky and slick, as the aftershocks slow. A ding sounds: the beginning of descent, back to the world.

Before he disengages, Nathan meets Peter's eyes in the mirror, and grins, wicked and boyish. Not taken apart at all. Put back together. They do that to each other too sometimes.


End file.
